The 73rd Hunger Games
by Atlas12
Summary: The 73rd Hunger Games are under way, and you get the honor of watching as 24 tributes from the 12 districts are reaped, sent to train, and fight to the Arena! check out the poll that goes along with this to vote for your favorite tributes, votes will ultimately decide who wins!
1. District 1 reaping

Theta Azer. D1. 17

I awoke with a start. My roommate was shaking me. God I hate her. She asks all of us to call her Suz. She says it's because it makes her sound tough but I know it's because she's embarrassed by her real name, Suzanne. I know she's hoping to be selected as victor but I was determined to not let that happen. There is no way that pathetic excuse of a career would win the Games. No, that honor would be all mine.

"I'm up," I shout.

"Good. Your outfit for the reaping is laid out over there'" She informed me, a note of bitterness in her voice. But, despite all else, she was right. On a chair parallel to my bed was a white dress.

"Thanks," I replied, not even looking at her. In fact, as I said that, I instead imagined how many areas on her body I could hit with an arrow before she bled to death. The official count was fourteen.

"Hurry up and get dressed," our Headmistress commanded us. "This institution has provided District 1 with victors for over sixty years and our reputation will not be tainted by some lowlifes like yourselves," She bellowed at us. Of course she wasn't always that brutal. The career training academy I live and train at requires that all staff members are complete asses to us. It's in the hope to toughen us up, make us more resilient and stuff like that.

"You ready to go yet," Suz asked. I walked out of the room without even addressing her. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

After a ten minute car ride from the Academy to the square, I approached the check in area. Having done this five times already, I knew just what line to get into and what hand to give to the Capitol worker. Once my finger was pricked I allowed myself to be herded to the correct spot for girls my age. It wasn't long until our escort Regina appeared on stage.

"Welcome District one to the reaping of the seventy third Annual Hunger Games," She exclaimed to us "Today I will be selecting one brave young man and lady for the honor of representing District One in this year's Games. But first, why are we here? We are here because once upon a time thirteen districts revolted against the Capitol that loved and fed them. The Hunger Games is a pageant of honor that was the result of this uprising," Regina rambled on for a bit about how lucky tributes were to be selected. Blah blah blah. Eventually she got to the exciting part, the part where the female tribute would be chosen. "And this year's District one tribute is… Theta Azer," She exclaimed with such joy. And joyous she should be! District one just received the best tribute it could have. I made my way toward the stage, throwing Suz a gloating look as I walked past. After a moment she announced my District Partner. Wade Kezrod. Once he arrived on stage we shook hands. Judging by the look in his eyes I could tell he was as happy about our partnership as I am. This was going to be a Game to remember.

Wade Kezrod. D1. 16

So here it was, the day of the Reaping, the day that every district would sacrifice one male and female tribute to fight to the death. It was the day I'd earn my honor. All my life, I was compared to my brother Shox. He won the 70th Hunger Games and I'd never heard the end of it since. Well no more, today was the day I will volunteer for tribute. I'm a career, and I can ask the reaping to be rigged so that I'm selected. One of the many perks of being a career.

"Wade hurry up, it's time to go," my father called to me.

"On my way," I responded. I look down at my selection of clothing. If I was going on National television I had to make sure I'm presentable. I had pair of black dress pants and two buttons down shirts, one of them blue, one red. Well the blue one would look better on me. It would complement my blonde hair and blue eyes. But the red shirt made me look stronger and more confident, So naturally I went with the red one. It was a good fit considering it accentuated my muscles. Yes, Today was a day to remember.

After about a twenty minute walk I finally arrive at the District square. The crowds were just starting to take shape. I got in line to check in, one quick finger prick and I'm registered. I get in the 16 section to watch who would end up my District partner. But of course, how could I forget our escort. Regina, a short, plump woman took the stage. She rambled on about how generous the Capitol is and what an honor it is to be selected as a tribute. Then, finally, she went and drew my partner's name. Theta Azer. This is PERFECT. Theta, like me, is a career. I'd seen her with a bow, she was deadly. After Regina was done shaking Theta's hand, she moved to the bowl with the male's names, and drew a slip of paper.

"Wade Kezrod," She announced to the crowd. "Where are you Wade?"

This was my moment. I took a deep breath, puffed out my chest, and with a confident strut, made a beeline for the stage. Once, I arrived on stage, I was instructed to shake Theta's hand. Afterwards, Regina wished us both a happy Hunger Games. Oh yes, It's a great Games indeed.


	2. District 2 reaping

**Thalia Mivet. D2. 15**

I am the victor. The corpses of my enemy tributes lie dead on the ground around me. Next thing I know I'm on stage facing the people of my district, and they are chanting my name. Thalia! Thalia! Thalia!

"Thalia wake up," my mother shrieked, shaking me awake. "Today's the day of the Reaping and I refuse to let you disgrace this family," she continued. Normally, I'd be pissed off by the way she was talking, but my dad was a victor in the Games. He died from a freak accident eleven years ago. I was four. But now's not the time for self-pity. My dad is my motivation for winning this year's Hunger Games. I'm a career, trained with knives. If a non-career is drawn, careers are allowed to volunteer. So hopefully some poor miner's daughter gets drawn so I can volunteer for her position.

After a few minutes I force myself out of bed and get dressed. My mom laid out a pink dress for me to wear. It was ghastly, but I know better than to complain. I put it on and began the journey to the district square. Today would be a reaping to remember.

I arrive at the square late, so by the time I'm checked in and in my spot, our escort Dixie has taken the stage. She's an average sized, lanky woman that always wears outfits of shades of the same color. This year it seems she's decided to deck herself out in pink. It was so gaudy and nauseating it made my dress look normal.

"Hello District Two and welcome to this year's 73rd annual Hunger Games," She announced to the audience. She was met with thunderous applause. District Two loves the Capitol, and the Capitol loves District Two.

"Today I've been granted the prestigious honor of selecting one courageous male and female tribute to represent District Two," she said, obviously scripted. "And this year's female tribute is… Victoria Debrox,"

"I volunteer as tribute," I shout out. Victoria is a thirteen year old who has never touched a weapon in her life. She'd bring shame to District Two. I'm all too happy to take her place. As I arrive on stage I'm asked to introduce myself. After that I wait for Dixie to draw the name of my Partner.

"Atlas Axwen," Dixie announces. Atlas is a gigantic beast of a tribute. He's the perfect person to be my District Partner. The odds are definitely in my favor.

 **Atlas Axwen. D2. 18**

Today is the day of the reaping, the day I will become a champion of District Two. For years I've watched other tributes go to the Arena. All of them died. They bring shame to our amazing district. I will not allow history to repeat itself. I will enter the Hunger Games and remind all of Panem just what tributes from District Two are capable of. I have trained since I was a boy for this year's Games, in fact, I'm training right now.

"You think that some last minute training will help you at all?" I hear some call to me. I throw my spear and turn to see who would dare to distract me. It was my girlfriend, Juniper.

"I don't need the training. I'm here for the fun of it, not because I am weak," I retort. "I will win this year's Games and I will go down in history."

"How are you so sure you'll get drawn?"

"If I don't I'll volunteer."

"What if a career is drawn? Or what if another career volunteers first? What I'm trying to say is that, how are you so sure that it'll be you that goes this year?"

"I'll let you in on a secret. Every year since I was twelve I've signed up for tesserae a bunch of times. My name is in that bowl over one hundred times."

"That's so evil, and yet, brilliant. I can't wait to watch my boyfriend win the Hunger Games!"

We talked for a while longer but I'll spare you the details. After an hour or so I arrived at the District square for the reaping. I got in my section and listened to our escort stumble on stage and ramble for a bit. Things got interesting after a few minutes when the female tribute was selected and immediately a career, Thalia, volunteered. Then came the moment I was waiting for, the selection of the male tribute. I waited in suspense as Dixie's hand went around and around the glass bowl until finally; she selected a slip of paper. She brought it up to the mic and announced, "Atlas Axwen."


	3. District 3 reaping

**Lenora Indra. D3. 13**

I awoke to the sound of a ringing bell. The other girls in the orphanage around me all start to wake up. And why shouldn't they? Today isn't any average day; it's the day of the reaping. We all form a single file line to get breakfast. When I reached the front of the line I held out my plate to receive my serving. I pulled my plate back to find a gray blob with the consistency of fresh concrete. I go to a table and begin to eat whatever this is. I wish I could go back to the old days. I still remember the smell of my mom cooking breakfast. The same fire that took my parents, my house, and life as I knew it away from me. It was three years ago. My mom was using our make shift stove to cook dinner when the fire inexplicably started to spread across the room and soon the entire house. My mom was gone instantly but my dad was clutching on for dear life. I went to him, to try and free him from the wooden beam that was lying on top of him when suddenly another beam fell on me, my hand to be exact. My dad died, I was left with one hand and even less people to take care of me. So I was sent here, to this dreary orphanage. I come back to reality only to realize my two best friends, Blyth and Janelle, are sitting down across from me

"Hey airhead, not getting your head lost in the clouds again are you?" Blyth asked.

"No," I reply. "Just thinking about the reaping."

"Don't overthink it; our names are only in there twice, what are the odds?" Janelle speculated. She was right, as always.

After breakfast was over the twenty or so of us orphans changed into our nicest clothes and headed to our District square. Once we were checked in and in our section we watched our escort, Zander, strut onto stage. Being one of the few male escorts he always faced a bit of ridicule. After welcoming us to this year's reaping he made his way to the bowl of the girl's names. "Lenora Indra," He read clearly to the audience. I watch, mortified, as the crowd of girls parts like the red sea, creating a path to the stage. Trying to stay confident I carry myself onto stage. I watch as Zander reads the name of my fellow tribute and watch, bewildered, as something that's never happened before happens now. "What are the odds?" I think to myself.

 **Glynn Verizak. D3. 15**

"Wake up honey, it's time to start our day," My mom told be while gently nudging me awake. "Breakfast is ready and I laid out a suit for you to wear at today's reaping,"

"Thanks mom," I said. I wasn't happy, but I can't blame my mom for the fact that today was the reaping. Besides, I'm not poor. My parents run a clothing store in the District square and make more than enough cash to support me. I am there only child after all. So eventually I slip out of bed and make my way to the kitchen. My mom left me a plate of toast and a glass of orange juice. There was also a note that read, "Out on business with your father, meet you after the reaping, Love mom." Great, so I was on my own until after the reaping. What if I get selected? What if I never see my parents because they couldn't leave their business for tomorrow? No, I mustn't think like that. I finish my plate and go to my room to change. It's almost time to leave.

When I get to my room I actually look at what my mother selected for me to wear. It's a plaid button down shirt and khakis. I put it on and looked in the mirror. I look terrible. Of course not much looks good on me. I'm one of the few fat people in my District. I can't help it, it's because my family has the money to spend on more food. So I make my way to the District square, it's a short walk seeing as I only live a few blocks away anyways. As I arrive and am checked in, a stumpy Capitol worker pricks my finger and directs me where to go. As I reach my spot our escort, Zander, takes the stage. He's one of the few male escorts and today he decided to wear a bright yellow shirt and black pants.

"Welcome District three to the reaping of the 73rd annual Hunger Games," he exclaimed to the crowd. We all watch as he draws the name of the female tribute. I watch as this girl with one hand makes her way to the stage. She has only one hand, how will she ever survive these Games? I get so lost in thought pondering this question that I don't even realize my name has been called until Zander reads it again. "Glynn, where are you?" I here Zander repeat. No, this can't be happening. Before I'm even aware of what I'm doing I start sprinting towards the exit, determined to not go to the Arena. However, the combination of the physical fitness of the peacekeepers and my extreme lack of any speed leads to me getting caught. As I'm half led, half dragged onto stage, I notice how unhappy Zander looks. No doubt he is unpleased by this year's tributes. A one handed cripple, and a fat rich boy. Looks like District won't be getting a victor this year.


	4. District 4 reaping

**Marketta Renivoc. D4. 14**

I awake to the sound of my alarm clock. I try hitting the snooze button but it just isn't working, so I pick it up and chuck it across my room. It hits the wall and shatters, but at least it stops ringing. I make my way out of bed to get my day started. It's really no big deal I broke the clock. My dad's a past Victor; we live in the lap of luxury. I bet there are Capitol children who wished they had my life.

As I arrive downstairs I find my family enjoying breakfast. I eagerly join them and we all delve into the topic of today's reaping. We started placing bets on who would get reaped this year; my money's on Jamila. She was seventeen and dirt poor. We made jokes that she had taken out tesserae so many times that it wouldn't be surprising if she was reaped twice. That is to say, the escort draws to slips of paper and the older of two is sent. After finishing our meal I made my way to my room to change into my district reaping. It was a beautiful ocean blue dress that all the money Jamila had ever had in her life would never buy. Once I'm done changing I leave with my family to the District square.

We arrived at the square just in time to see our escort stumble on stage. She was new so I didn't know her name. She blathered on about what an honor it was for us to go to the Capitol and compete in the Games. After a while she finally made her way to the glass bowl. When she finally had a name in her hand she returned to the mic to announce the tribute. "Marketta Renivok." I gasped. I smiled and I felt tears come to my eyes all at once. This was all I had ever wanted. My father and mother looked down on me, smiling. My father had won the Hunger Games many years ago, when he was around my age, and the shining pride in his eyes was surely reflected in my mother's as well.

I walk up to the podium, the sticky, humid summer wind blowing damp tresses of jet black hair up from my neck. A chill went up my spine. This is what I was born to do. This is what I've trained to do my entire life. No one volunteered for me. No one wanted to. For years, District Four has lost the Games and I refuse to do so. Since a young age I have been the district's most prized female career. My brown eyes glanced over the crowd. Some looked at me with pride, others with fear. I lifted my chin a bit to show the crowd that I will win. In that moment, I can practically see all the hollow shells of my deceases opponents around me, and I am standing there. Victor. Victor. Victor.

Our escort swirled her hand around in the boy's reaping bowl, her fingernails making an annoying click against the glass. She pulled out a name.

A lean, muscular, tall boy with close-cropped hair and clear green eyes walked up to the stage, radiating confidence. He faced me. I faced him.

As we leaned in to shake hands, he whispered, "This is it."

Yeah, this is it, I repeated to myself as we walked into the town's building to bid our families goodbye.

 **Verrick Bentic. D4. 17.**

My eyes fluttered open soon after 9 o'clock. No alarm. No wakeup call from my parents or two older siblings, who were past the reaping age. I woke up on my own, out of sheer adrenaline and anxiety. Today is reaping day; I am a career. Today is the day my destiny will be sealed: I will win the 73rd Annual Hunger Games.

My clear green eyes flicked around the room until they rested on the shining gold trident sitting in the corner of my room next to a formal light blue dress shirt, slacks, and shoes. I smiled as soon as my eyes took in that sight. The trident. The trident, the gleaming trident, my weapon of choice. This trident had never been used and was given to me by my eldest brother after his final reaping day, where he was not chosen. I will not be my brother.

At around ten, my mother, father, my brothers, and I walked to the main square of District Four. Many people were already gathered, hovering around one another in the sticky summer heat. I walked into the square with my eyes on the reaping bowl and nothing else, willing my name to be called. Of course, our escort called the ladies first. Her hand swished around in the bowl, her painted fingernails clicking against the glass, and she pulled out my District Partner's name. It read: "Marketta Renivoc."

Marketta Renivoc. She was just the ally I needed in these games. Smart, deadly, and drop dead gorgeous. We'd dominate this year's Games, until the part where we were the final two, in which case she'd be dead in a second. Finally our escort made her way to the reaping bowl to draw the male tribute. I couldn't stand it! I have to be the tribute. Her hand was in the bowl. She'd selected the name and was at the mic. "This year's male tribute of district 4 is—," She was cut brutally short by my outcry

"I volunteer as tribute! I volunteer as tribute!" I will be heard. I refuse to let some slob go and make a fool of himself. No, I would never allow that to happen.


	5. District 5 reaping

**Samantha Marie. D5. 16**

"Time to get up girls." I look up to find my dad instructing my little sister and I to get up. Normally I'd have been up already; I'd have to get to the power plant. But today wasn't an ordinary day; it was the day of the reaping. The day the Capitol Forces one male and female tribute to fight to the death in some sinister, twisted games. The worst part about it is that the Capitol is bias about it all. They secretly fund training to Districts One, Two, and Four.

"Good morning Sam," I hear my little sister say.

"Good morning Em," I respond. My little sister, Emma, is only eight. She always calls me Sam instead of Samantha so as a joke I call her Em. It's not that I don't like being called Sam, I actually prefer it, calling Emma Em is just our inside joke. A way for me to tell her I love her. "We should go get breakfast before Mom and Dad eat it all."

"Yeah…" I can tell something is wrong.

"Em, don't worry. The odds of me getting reaped are astronomical. There are hundreds of girls with their name in the bowl more than mine," I assure her. "Now let's go get some food then you can show me that pretty dress that you're wearing to town today," I suggest, careful to avoid saying reaping. So we go to our kitchen, and my mom serves us oatmeal. The oatmeal, a glaring reminder of the extreme likelihood of my name being drawn, the oatmeal, made from grain bought from my tesserae. My name is in that glass bowl exactly thirty times. Five times because I'm sixteen, and twenty five times because for the past five years I've put my name in for tesserae. The oatmeal, the reminder that no matter what I tell Em, the odds are not in my favor.

So eventually my family and I arrive at the District square. It's probably the ugliest of all the districts. After all, it's surrounded by all of our power plants. You can smell and hear all of them when it's a normal day. But again, today is no ordinary day; it's the day of the reaping. I gave Em a gigantic squeeze hug, but eventually I have to detach myself from her and go to my section. I arrive in time to watch our eccentric escort Crystal rush onto stage.

"Welcome District Five to the Reaping of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games," She exclaimed to the crowd, met only with polite applause from the mayor and his family. "Today I will select one brave young man and woman to represent District Five in this year's Games. Ladies First," She announced, like it really mattered who went first. Either way two families are losing a child. Why was Crystal taking so long to select a name? The tension could be felt like an electrical current passing through the air. Finally, after a brutally long period she found a slip of paper that seemed to please her. She clicked her heels back to the mic and read, "Samantha Marie." I hear sudden bursts of crying, probably the result of Emma coming to the conclusion that her sister is very likely to be dead in a few weeks or less. But no, I can't be weak, for her sake, I must be confident. I walk through the crowd; doing everything I possibly can to stay calm. I arrive to the stage and wait to find out the identity of my Partner. Crystal takes no time at all selecting the name right from the top of the bowl. She arrives again at the mic and reads the name. NO, not him. Please, anyone but him. But my pleas are unheard as they are unspoken. There will be no re-draw, no do overs. I am going into the Arena with the one person I would never be able to work with. I am entering the Hunger Games with my ex-boyfriend as the only person I can trust.

 **Foster Stines. D5. 16.**

"Foster, we're running late," My dad yells while shaking me awake. "The reaping is today and the Peacekeepers will burn down our house if we don't arrive on time." Perhaps the worst part of that sentence was that I knew he wasn't joking. Last year, our neighbors decided not to go to the reaping, as a form of rebellion. The Capitol then sent Peacekeepers who killed half the family and burned down everything they owned. It's brutal, I know, but the Capitol heavily relies on the power we give them, and as a result cannot have us having a rebellion. That's why they make our lives miserable. It's so that we are too afraid of them to stand for the rights we think we deserve. After that event with our neighbors last year though, my dad has been so terrified of the Capitol and its Peacekeepers. Although I think he uses that as a cover. I mean, why won't he tell me how my mother died. I was only three so I don't remember it myself. But whenever I ask he says there was a fire in one of the power plants. Only I know this isn't true because I researched it and I found no trace of a power plant fire anywhere near the time of her death. I wonder what he's hiding.

Anyways, now is not the time to let my mind be distracted by some unsolvable mystery. I get out of bed and change into my reaping outfit. It's nothing interesting. Just a white button down shirt and dress pants, but the Capitol's going to have to deal with the fact that I'm not dressed in one of their god awful outfits. I find my dad waiting for me, and together we step out of our poor excuse of a house and make our way to the District Square.

As I get checked in and walk to my section, I allow myself to wonder which of these poor children will be selected to compete in the Hunger Games. Will it be the poor little girl in the front row, or the rich market kid next to her? Will it be Ashby? The girl who lost her leg to an explosion two years ago, or will it be Samantha, the girl I once loved, before everything between us fell apart. All the children here, and yet we all worry about being reaped. Well not me, I refuse to let the Capitol scare me with their glass bowls and flamboyant escorts. Speaking of escorts, our escort Crystal half walks half runs onto stage and welcomes us to this year's Hunger Games. She then goes to the bowl containing the girls names, and after a long while, selects a name and reads it into the mic. "Samantha Marie." Oh dear god, Samantha. At that exact moment it suddenly dawns on me how much I still love her. I should volunteer. It won't exempt her from being reaped, but at least I could protect her. I take a step forward to announce that I volunteer when she reads the slip of paper containing the male tribute's name. "Foster Stines," I hear Crystal read. I hear her, but I do not comprehend. I was reaped? But I was going to volunteer. Now I realize what a mistake it would have been to volunteer, now that I am going to the Games no matter what I want.


	6. District 6 reaping

**Indica Ozdet. D6. 13.**

I wake up on my own. No sound, no alarm, no family coming to tell me to wake up. This isn't a typical start for me, but then again there is nothing typical on the day of the reaping. The reason my family was all so quiet was that my big brother, Ryffe, was reaped last year. He was fifteen. He died a bloodbath. The girl from District One stabbed him repeatedly in the heart for the bag he had slung over his shoulder. Because, you know, the careers are always so short on supplies they need to kill a fellow tribute for a bag that only contained some food, a rope, and matches. But that is the past, and this is now.

I make my way to the exact scene I was expecting, my parents crying. After all, they already lost one of their children, and now they're afraid of losing their other one. I walked over and gave them a huge hug. We stayed in this position for a few more minutes before I went upstairs to change into my reaping outfit. It was just a simple black dress. I got it after last year's reaping. It was my way of mourning his loss. He had promised me that I wouldn't be reaped, if only I'd known that would come at the cost of his life. Once I'm changed, my family and I make our way to the District Square

When we arrive at the District Square I try to drink in the view. A stone plaza surrounded by the factories where our districts assemble trains. In the plaza there is a stage with the mayor, our living victors, our escort Fawna, and a handful of Peacekeepers. Hundreds of families gather at the center of the plaza; each of them knowing there is a chance they will be losing a child, for some, even two. But no matter how angry we are, we submit. The Hunger Games are a special form of torture for our district especially because the trains used to transport the tributes were made only a few blocks away.

Eventually our escort, Fawna, decides it's time to stop. Her silver outfit looked like one gigantic pillow, considering how many fluffs and ruffles there were on it. "Welcome District Six to the Reaping of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games. I shall have the pleasure of choosing which male and female will compete in this year's Games. Ladies first." Her shoes clicked and clacked on the pristine stage as she walked to one of the glass bowls on stage. My name is in that bowl. It's only in their twice though. The only logical reason my name would be drawn is if the Capitol willed it to be so. And why would they? They've already taken my brother, what more do they want? I refocus my attention in time to see that Fawna has drawn a name and is about to read it to the audience. "Indica Ozdet," She reads. I know at that moment that my parents are crying, but my attempts to look back at them is cut short by the arrival of two Peacekeepers, each taking an arm and guide/force me to stage.

 **Jehan Olliander. D6. 15.**

I wake to the sound of a train whistle. I get really annoyed by it so I reach up and hit the snooze button. It was a gag gift from my father. A train shaped alarm clock with a train whistle for an alarm. My parents work with a team of Capitol workers on designing the interiors to the trains. So all those luxury trains the Capitol has can start thanking my father. Of course their version of saying "Thank you" is to host a televised fight to the death that two members of our district must participate. But what's the point about being hostile towards the Capitol. Because of my parent's jobs we are so rich it doesn't really matter. My name is only in that bowl five times, the likelihood of my name being drawn is slim to none.

So after laying out my reaping outfit, a green shirt and dress pants, I head downstairs to say hello to my parents. As I arrive I see my dad hanging another one of my paintings. Because my family is so loaded I get to pick up odd hobbies, for example, painting. The odd part is that I'm actually a pretty good painter. After a quick meal with my parents, I head upstairs to change into my reaping outfit before leaving for the actual reaping.

When we arrive at the District square we have to separate. While I'm in my section I attempt striking up a conversation with the guy next to me, but he doesn't seem too interested in talking. Luckily for me, before anything gets awkward, our escort Fawna arrives on stage. She welcomes us, which is odd considering this is our home and she is the guest, then she goes to draw the female tribute's name. I don't know this girl but she's very young. The odds definitely aren't in her favor.

"And now, the boys," Fawna said to no one in particular. She then stuck her hand in the bowl and, after a few moments, selected a name. She then returned to the mic and read, "Jehan Olliander." No, no this can't be happening. Before I know it I'm running away from the reaping. If I get out of the district they'll have to do a redraw. I can't go to the games. I just can't. My thoughts are interrupted as I'm tackled by a Peacekeeper and dragged back to the reaping. The odds are in no one's favor today.


	7. District 7 reaping

**Adria Gerwin. D7. 13.**

I'd tell you how I slept, but that would require me actually sleeping. The thought of the reaping has kept me up all night. Sure, the idea of the reaping scares anyone that might get drawn, but I was already reaped. Last year, my mom assured me I wouldn't get drawn, but she was wrong. Luckily for me, there was a seventeen year old brave enough to take my place. She came back a winner. I see her around every once and a while. But now isn't the time for pointless reminiscing, I have to get ready for the reaping. I head to our kitchen and grab a small piece of bread for breakfast. My name was in that bowl extra times because of this piece of bread, so I may as well enjoy it. After eating my poor excuse of a breakfast, I head back to my room to change for the reaping. I get on the nicest pair of pants I can find and a plain white shirt. Not all of us in the Districts can afford dresses. This is as nice as I can get for the Capitol, and they'd best be pleased I even tried.

So once I'm changed I head for the District Square. Along the way I pass one of the forests where District seven gets its money from. My parents are in there somewhere, hacking away at a tree, fighting an uphill battle to keep the three of us alive. There's the common misconception about District Seven. We all aren't lumberjacks; we all aren't good with axes. Here I am a possible tribute for District Seven, and I wouldn't be able to use an axe any better than I'd be able to pilot a hovercraft.

So I eventually reach the District Square and watch our escort, Candela, waddle on stage. And I mean that literally, as she is a short, stumpy woman who gives the appearance of waddling when she walks. Today she is wearing some horribly tight, dark purple dress and a matching bow the size of me.

"Welcome District Seven to the reaping of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games. Today, I have been given the honor to select the tributes from this beautiful District," She gushed. We all know the only reason she's so happy is that she used to be an escort for District Twelve before coming here. Even this poor District is luxurious compared to District Twelve. "Ladies first," She said. As she waddles over to one of two bowls, I can't help imagining her tripping and falling off stage. This idea continues to amuse me right until I hear her announce the name of the female tribute, "Adria Gerwin," She reads. No, it can't be me. I'm only thirteen, and I was reaped last year! This runs through my head until I make eye contact with the girl who volunteered for me last year. She was strong enough to do it, and so am I. Besides, she's my mentor. If anyone will be able to help me it'll be her. I walk on stage and see the most unexpected thing happen.

 **Kyros Mason. D7. 18**

The reaping. Whack! The Capitol. Whack! The Hunger Games. Whack! I continue to take out my anger on this tree. It's the Capitol's fault I'm up already, chopping down trees. It's the Capitol's fault my twin sister went in the Arena last year. They're lucky she won, or they would have had to deal with my wrath. Yeah, eighteen year old with axe versus an oppressive government, this is why I don't make plans for the rebellion. Yeah, that's right; there are whispers of rebellion throughout District Seven. Of course, it'll only ever be whispers if they don't have someone to fight behind, a leader of sorts.

In the distance, I hear a whistle sound. That meant it was time for any of us at reaping age to head to the District Square. Who cares if we are all so dirty, we're the only ones supporting our extremely fragile economy. My sister Johanna volunteered for a twelve year old last year. I don't understand why she would do that though. Just because she volunteered for her doesn't mean the girl is forever safe, she still has to live in District Seven. This year my sister will be a mentor for the tributes, and I will be here, chopping trees.

Eventually we arrive at the reaping. By the time we get there however, our escort is already in the process of drawing the name of the female tribute. She arrives on stage and reads the name. I don't know who she is but it's obvious my sister does. That's when it dawns on me. The girl that was just reaped is the same girl my sister volunteered for last year. I look behind me and see the parents crying at the loss of their child, and suddenly I understand. I understand why Johanna did what she did. We don't have parents. We wouldn't have anyone crying for us except each other. That's when it dawns on me what I need to do.

"I volunteer as tribute," I shout. Candela was definitely not expecting that.

"You volunteer? You do realize your volunteering doesn't exempt Adria from entering?"

"If she still has to go then the least I can do is protect her," I respond, already making my way up to the stage. Once I'm at the mic I look at everyone and announce, "My name is Kyros Mason, and I volunteer as tribute." The Capitol may still be taking this poor girl, but if they want her life, then they'll have to go through me first.


	8. District 8 reaping

**Riku Hengert. D8. 17**

For years my parents have been pressuring me to go to the games. It's tradition in the Hengert family to volunteer to go to the Games. The first born always volunteers to go. You would think that with a tradition like this, we'd have at least one or two victors' right? Well you'd be wrong. All of them have been bloodbaths, but that doesn't seem to stop my parents from encouraging me to volunteer this year. That's the last thing; the tradition is the first year volunteers at seventeen. The thing is, I don't want to volunteer. I'm no career, why would I want to willingly go to the Arena. There would be twenty four of us. Only one gets to leave. No matter what the Capitol says, the odds are definitely not in anyone's favor.

I head into the main part of my house to find my entire family waiting for me. They don't know how against volunteering I am. They expect me to volunteer so fast it'll knock the wig right off our escort. Man will I crush their spirits today. But, as they aren't expecting any problems, they have all gathered for a feast before the reaping. We eat, we laugh, we talk strategy, and, when it's almost time to leave they ask to see my reaping outfit. It's this Capitol outfit that my family saved up to buy for years. That's the thing about District Eight; we are the only District that has a chance at getting Capitol clothing, because we make it. This particular outfit was a long Yellow dress that's collar reached up to my ears. It looks atrocious. This is what the Capitol calls fashion?

My family makes a big deal about walking with me to the reaping. Once we arrived, I made a big deal about getting away from them as soon as I could. Two can play at that game. The thought of disappointing my family was unbearable, so was wearing this outfit. I was contemplating the likelihood of some freak accident happening that stopped the reaping right as our escort Ariel bounced on stage. She is wearing the same exact outfit as I am. Somebody please shoot me. I wonder how big of a disturbance I would have to cause for that Peacekeeper to find it necessary to kill me.

"Riku, where are you?" I hear our escort says. It takes a second for it all to sink in. I had been reaped; I didn't have to volunteer because I was reaped. I walk to the stage and shake hands with the escort. "Well what do we have here? I don't think I've ever seen a citizen of a District that has so much style," Ariel says unaware that she has truly condemned me. Right as I was sure nothing about today could possibly go wrong; Ariel announced that my Partner was a twelve year old. And not just any twelve year old, the mayor's son.

 **Thom Compton. D8. 12.**

I am reaped. I face the crowd and they all know as well as I do that I stand no chance. I arrive at the Capitol and enter the Arena. I don't make it five seconds before all twenty-three other tributes take turns stabbing me. My chest, my head, everywhere.

"Thom, wake up. It's time to get ready. The reaping is in a few hours and everyone has to be there, even the mayor and his family. We have to represent our district," I hear my mom say while she nudges me awake. My dad is the mayor, and my whole family is not only expected to be at the reaping; we're expected to be on stage. Sure my mom and I are on the back of the stage, but I don't like that kind of attention. What I don't get is why my name is in the reaping bowl? I'm the mayor's son, so why do I need my life need to be risked like those common street rats. I see them walking down the street. They're all dirty from the clothing factories. Hours upon hours of sewing clothes has left them with bruised fingers and the nasty smell of factories. No matter how hard you scrub, some smells are permanent. That's the lesson I learned from District Eight.

But regardless how much I hate it, my name is in that reaping bowl. It's only in there once. So I take a second to look at my closet to decide what to wear. I eventually decide that a simple white shirt. My mom then arrives in my room to tell me we are needed on stage. That's one more part of the reaping that I hate; I arrive at the reaping an hour before everyone else.

Eventually that hour passes and the other citizens arrive from wherever it is that they call home. As everyone arrives, I get front row seats to watch as our escort, in all her crazy clothing, walks on stage. Does she even realize that she is in the District where that outfit was made? Does she realize that the exact factory that made that outfit can be seen from where she is standing? Probably not, she is from the Capitol after all. The land where everything is taken for granted. So eventually everyone arrives and Ariel is given permission to reap the girl. Well it seems there is a small hope for District Eight this year. The female tribute seems to be about seventeen or eighteen. Ariel then picks a slip of paper from the other bowl and reads the name it contains into the mic. "Thom Compton. Oh my, Compton? Like the mayor's son?" She questions, turning to face my dad and I. My mom starts crying and tries to keep the Peacekeepers from grabbing me. The Peacekeepers however, are much stronger than my mom and eventually they manage to pry the two of us apart. I shake hands with my District Partner, who I now know is named Riku, and accept the fact that I have no hope of winning.


	9. District 9 reaping

**Sena Overbill D9. 16**

"Mom, get me some ice, her temperature is flaring up again," I call out to my mom. My little sister's been extremely sick for almost a year now, and there's been next to nothing that my mother and I can do. We put ice on her forehead when she starts heating up, we feed her food, and we buy medicine from the local apothecary when we can. But no matter how hard we try, the apothecary owner says that she has only a month or two left, and they won't be pretty.

"Sena, I got some medicine from the apothecary!" I hear someone shout out.

"Walker, oh my god!" I exclaim. Walker, my best friend, had just walked in carrying a bag with medicine, and it was the good kind. "Walker, how much did this cost?"

"My most recent tesserae shipment, but it doesn't matter. Your sister is worth it," I'd argue with him about how spending tesserae takes away his family's dinner, but looking at my sister, Suzanne, I realize that giving her the medicine is the only way she will have the energy to get out of bed and go to the reaping. She's only six, but the Capitol requires all of our attendance, no exception.

"Thank you so much Walker," I say. Walker and I have been friends since before I can remember. We've never been anything more than friends, but I think of him more as a brother.

"Go get ready Sena, I'll keep an eye on Suzanne for you," Walker tells me. I know it's a good idea, the reaping is in less than an hour and I'm still not ready. I go to the bedroom that Suzanne and I share, and get dressed in my blue dress. As I look around the room I realize how my family has no chance of saving my sister unless we somehow triple our cash income. And that's when it dawns on me. I need to volunteer for the Games. If I win, then I become rich. I can use my money to pay for a treatment for Suzanne, and give her the life she deserves. I will volunteer this year; just like a career.

So Walker and I head towards the District Square and leave my mom instructions on how to get Suzanne out of bed and to the reaping. As we walk, I contemplate telling Walker my plan. In the end I decide that it's a bad idea. The fact that he wouldn't want to see me die would cloud his judgment. It's best for everyone if I make this my secret until the reaping. As we arrive to the reaping, we watch our escort Cordelia march on stage. We know she wants a promotion desperately, but she does her best to make it seem like District Nine is the new District One. So anyways, Cordelia gushes about how happy she is to see us and says she will begin the reaping with the drawing of the girl's name. She selects a paper and starts walking to the mic as I prep myself for my day view. "Alegra Ross," Cordelia reads into the mic. A scared looking girl walks out from the fourteen year olds section.

"You can thank me later Alegra," I think to myself. "I volunteer as tribute," I shout, looking directly at Cordelia. While Cordelia tries to compose herself from her obvious signs of surprise, I mentally say goodbye to Suzanne, just in case, despite the Capitols wishes, the odds are not in my favor.

 **Walker Eden. D9. 16**

I knew that Sena's sister was in bad condition, but when I walked into their house; I finally saw firsthand just how bad it really is. I was worried about how the absence of this month's tesserae would affect my family, but I now know that the Overbills need it way more than I do. I see that Sena still hasn't changed for the reaping, so I send her to change and watch Suzanne for her. It was only moments before she was back in a blue dress. "We should get going," I say. "Your mom can get Suzanne to the reaping; we should leave now to get checked in."

After we arrive, we get separated at check in. I see her across the Square. After a moment or two she looks over at me. I signal to her that everything, and she nods, but I can tell she's not so sure. Eventually our escort Cordelia arrives on stage, and almost without warning, goes to one of the glass bowls and selects a name. "Alegra Ross," She reads. Alegra is my neighbor. Why is it that the Capitol needs to take so many innocent kids every year?

"Wow District Nine, let's hear it for your first ever female volunteer," Cordelia announced. We have a volunteer? Was it Alegra's older sister Avery? I look above the heads of those around me to get a view of our mysterious volunteer. I must be going a crazy. A tracker jacker must have stung me, because there is no way what I'm seeing is actually happening. Sena is walking toward the stage. Sena volunteered for the Games. How had I not noticed? What is she thinking? How can she see volunteering is a good idea? What about her sister? And then it hits me. Her sister, she's volunteering because she is hoping to win enough money to give her sister a treatment for whatever it is that is killing her.

"I volunteer for tribute," I shout.

"We haven't even drawn the name of the male tribute," says Cordelia, obviously baffled by our District's willingness to volunteer this year.

"I don't care," I respond. "I'm not letting Sena go in there without backup. It's too dangerous." I walk onto stage and approach Sena.

"What are you doing Walker?

"I'm doubling the chance of your sister getting that treatment. If I win, my money will go to her treatment just as much as yours would," I say.

"Thank you," Sena says, tears welling up in her eyes.

"And there we have it District Nine; your two tributes!"


	10. District 10 reaping

**Gemma Lazert. D10. 14**

It was time to go shopping. We were running low on food, and what better day to go shopping than the day of the reaping. The shops were all closed, and their owners were all too worried for their children's safety to notice if a few items went missing. If you haven't noticed, I use the term shopping very loosely. When we shop, we really just sneak into the shop, take a few things, and then move on before anyone notices. Before you go judging us; you have to understand that we are all orphans. My parents dumped me at the orphanage when I was four. They said they didn't want me anymore. I was devastated at first, but then I met Malena and Ike. They were both orphans like me. As I got to know them, I found out that the Peacekeepers killed Malena's parents. Ike however, refuses to talk about what happened to his family. One day, we decided to run away from the orphanage. At night, Malena and I broke the window in our room, and ran for it. Ike did the same with his roommate Randall. The three of us made it, but Randall got shot in the back when we were running from the orphanage. Since then, we've made camp in an abandoned old building. We aren't quite sure what it was used for, but it smells terrible.

"Hey Gemma, are we leaving, or what?" I turn to see Malena and Ike both ready to head out for our shopping.

"Yeah let's go," I say. No point in prolonging it any further. We walk out of our home and start to walk around the top square. There's a small food shop run by a family with a twelve year old. We decide to start there since we figure the family will be too busy convincing their kid that she won't get drawn. After a moment or two of unsuccessful attempts of picking the back door's lock, Ike finally gets it. We sneak in, and start storing stuff in our duffle bags. After a few minutes of grabbing everything within our reach, I decide that we should get going. "C'mon guys, we should get going," I whisper. So we leave and head back home.

"We should go to the reaping," Says Malena.

"Are our names even in the bowl?" I ask.

"I bet the orphanage says they killed all four of us," Ike says. "So I doubt it, no."

"Well I'm not saying we should go because of our names. I say we go to pay respect to the poor two tributes going in the Arena," Said Malena.

"What do you think Gemma?" Asked Ike.

"I agree with Malena; we should go," I say. It really isn't fair to the two tributes to have to leave everything they know for a death match.

So we finish our mini-feast and head to the District Square. It's a short walk and when we arrive, a lady in the ugliest outfit I've ever seen walks on stage. I realize she's our escort when she goes to draw the name of the tributes. It is announced that our female tribute is a twelve year old girl. I realize that she is the daughter of the owner of the shop we stole from. The escort then goes to the other glass bowl on stage and draws a name. "Randall Benitt," our escort reads. I must have heard that wrong. Randall died years ago. I crane my neck and I see him. It really is Randall. He looks well fed, but worn. Like one of the slaughter house kids. I look at Malena and Ike and they share the same awe-struck look that I have; indicating that they have come to the same conclusion as I have. I can't let Randall die again. I've lost him once, I can't lose him again.

"I volunteer as tribute," I shout.

 **Randall Benitt. D10. 14.**

I am Randall Benitt. I am fourteen years old. I was raised in an orphanage. When I was ten I tried to escape with my three friends Malena, Ike, and Gemma. The Capitol's Peacekeepers shot and killed the three of them and captured me. I was sent to the Capitol and served the President as an Avox. President Snow finally decided I had paid for my crime, and I since I am a minor I was sent back to my home District. I was sent back to the orphanage, but I was almost immediately adopted by the owner of a meat packing factory. That's where I am now; packing hunks of meat into plastic so that they can be transported to the Capitol. I look up only to be blinded by the glare of the white light. That light, it looks so similar to one I've seen before, but where? This is the first time I've been in the building. Then I think, the hospital. And that is when I black out.

"We need more morphling for the memory alterations to be successful," Someone next to me says. I try to sit up, to see who said that, and to find out where I am. I'm being restrained. This bed has cuffs holding my wrists, ankles, and waist down.

"The president says he wants this kid to forget what really happened that night. Here's the form explaining what he should remember instead," I hear a second voice say

"Got it, thanks," The first voice said. Now, let's see if this is enough morphling to knock him out." There was a sharp pain in my right arm, and then there was darkness.

"Randall are you OK?" I hear someone say. It was my adopted father. "I think you fainted. One second you were packing that meat into the bag, and the next thing I know you're on the ground. Why don't you go get ready for the reaping? I'll handle it from here." I nod, as my Avox treatment restricted me from making any actual noises. I head up to my room and try to process what just happened. What had I just seen? When did that ever happen to me? Why did those two voices want to change my memories, and why did everything in that memory have some odd glow to it? When did that happen to me? These are the questions that occupy my mind while I get on my nice clothes for the reaping.

When I arrive at the reaping our escort Vandrel was drawing the name of the female tribute. It was some market child girl; I'd never seen her before. Then Vandrel drew the name of our male tribute. She read his name, but it wasn't just any name, it was mine. I walk on stage, and think how my random flash-back seemed like nothing compared to this unfortunate turn of events. Just as this day couldn't get any weirder, Gemma volunteers as tribute. Gemma, one of my friends killed by Peacekeepers years ago. How was she still alive? And what was she doing volunteering for tribute? What does this even mean?


	11. District 11 reaping

**Auburn Ternatea. D11. 13.**

I am so sick and tired of all of this stupid gardening. All day, every day, I wake up at the crack of dawn, and carry bushel after bushel of various fruits and vegetables to the cars that drive them to the cargo trains that go to the Capitol. Today was probably the worst day of all. On the ride into the fields, the car broke down, and the Peacekeeper driving it told us to walk the rest of the way. After a half mile hike we found out we were stationed to pick herbs today. The worst thing about herbs is how mind-numbingly boring it is to pick them. All you do is yank leaves off the plants. And then, of course, our ride was still broken down, so we had to carry our bushels into town. By the time we made it into town, we saw the reaping was being set up and realized we still needed to get ready for it. My older sister Rose and I were both of reaping age and we had to somehow get a year's worth of dirt off us in time for the reaping. My sister and I take turns taking a bath in the metal bowl we call a tub. We can't afford to be late. If we are, the Peacekeepers will take all the money I make until the next reaping. My family still requires my sister and I to take out tesserae even with all four of us working from sun rise to sun set.

So my sister and I eventually give up on the idea of perfection after we've scrubbed off five layers of dirt, and still aren't near being done. We leave the small hut we refer to as home and go to the District Square. It really is the most beautiful of all the District Squares. We are sure of this because the Capitol citizens took a vote on it. Ours was described as, vibrant, colorful, and naturally beautiful. Why do Capitol citizens have such easy lives that they have time to vote on a frivolous poll while we spend our days providing them with food. What if the roles were reversed? What if they were forced to work back breaking hours while I got to analyze which District had the prettiest Square?

"Auburn, are you even listening?" I hear Rose ask. "We're late. We'll need to run if we want any hope of surviving this next year. You know as well as I do that the Peacekeepers here are relentless. They'll take our money, and do something terrible, like kill one of us, or our parents. Do you want that to happen?" I felt Rose was being a bit extreme, but I didn't want my parents dead, so I started running with Rose to get to the Square faster. Had I known what was going to happen, I would have stopped dead in my tracks and refused to move.

We arrive to the Square just in time for our escort's appearance. Our escort, Trixie, loved trying wearing clothes that resembled our district. But of course, with a Capitol fashion sense, everything was terribly hilarious. This year she was supposed to be a rose. Her red dress had a bunch of overlapping layers that made her head look like the center of the rose. Her shoes had big roses over the toes, and her wig was tinted red, and had real roses sticking out of them. She gave some big speech about how happy she was to be here. We all know that she's jealous of her sister Dixie; the District Two escort.

"The female tribute this year is," She said, cutting to the chase, "Is Auburn Ternatea."

As I walk to the stage I look over at Rose. She's crying, but showing no sign of volunteering for me. It seems love only goes so far.

 **Ash Solidaster. D11. 16**

"But what if I do get reaped?" asked my little brother Dorian asked for about the millionth time today.

"Don't worry bro. Your name is only in there once. I highly doubt you will get drawn, twelve year olds hardly ever do." My brother was so overly worried that he would get drawn, that it's all he's been able to talk about all week. Every time he brings it up, I reassure him that he won't be getting drawn. His refusal to believe anything and everything I tell him is really starting to get on my nerves. Of course, it probably didn't help that we had been out picking fruit for the past three and a half hours. I had to protect my brother from getting reaped, so I didn't let him take any tesserae. But my family still needed to eat, so Dorian had to come out here and work. The problem of being in a family with five kids was that it was an uphill battle to keep everyone fed. There are often days when I don't eat. Some days I sneak out of the house and grab a few things from the shipment boxes. Just a bag of fruit or vegetables every now and again. It's not like it's going to kill the Capitol because they're five carrots short.

As the day goes on, I figure it's time for my brother and I to leave so that we can get cleaned up for the reaping. I let him take the first bath. I'm not really sure why, but for some reason letting him have the hot water helped keep me calm. While he bathed I laid out his outfit and changed into mine. We both had one nice outfit, for the sole purpose of the reaping. We both had khakis and plaid shirts, his blue, mine green. I was wise in the decision to just get dressed, because by the time he was done in the bath it was almost time to go. He changed into his clothes, and we left together for the District Square.

As we arrived, our escort was in the process of talking about how she loved our flowery little District. She needs to do her research. District Eleven is one of the largest Districts. At least she knew we have flowers in our District. You could tell by her hideous flower dress. I think it was supposed to be a rose, but it looked like one big red monstrosity. She announced the female tribute. I recognized her as one of the other farmers. You could tell the people of our District weren't very happy about someone so young being sent into the Arena. Then the unspeakable happened. "Ash Solidaster," Trixie read. I walked toward stage doing my best to stay confident.

As I passed my brother's section however, Dorian ran out and shouted, "I volunteer as tribute!"

"No Dorian," I said. "You're too young." I continued to walk on stage and shake hands with a slightly bewildered Trixie.


	12. District 12 reaping

**Maya Nitrem. D12. 15.**

I awake to the sound of a bang, and a shout. Grabbing my robe, I run out of my house to find the source of the commotion. Once I arrive in my backyard, I find my dad tripping over the clothes lines. The bang I heard was one of his liquor bottles shattering on the ground. The money my dad makes down at the mines is so small that even with tesserae, my mom and I do other people's laundry. There is no real thing as clean clothes in District Twelve, but my mom and I do a better job at clean clothes than most people in the Seam. My dad always drinks, but it always gets about ten times worse on the day of the reaping. A long time ago my uncle was reaped. My dad was eighteen and my uncle was fourteen. My dad didn't volunteer and it is his greatest regret. My dad won't tell me what happened or how he died; all I know is he didn't win. Because of this, every reaping since, my dad gets too drunk to function. So here we were again. Usually, I just let him off on his drunken ways, but he was tearing straight through the clothes lines that paid for the alcohol in his hand.

"Dad!" I shriek. "Get inside and stay away from the clothes." As I yell, he drops his bottle and looks crazily at me. I'm not sure if he understood what I said, or if he just wanted to grab another bottle from the house. Either way he stumbled back into the poor excuse of a shack that we called home. As I start collecting the glass from his broken liquor bottle, I cut my hand.

"Shit," I cry. I look at the wound, and watch as some blood starts to drip out of palm. At first I think that it'll only be a few drops and then be over, but then it starts to gush. Of course, this would be my luck.

As I fight an uphill battle to keep the blood in my body where it belongs, I don't even notice my mom walking out of the hut. "Go and wrap up your hand, Azaiah and I will handle this."

Once I'm in the house, I wrap my hand in an old rag and change into my reaping outfit. It's nothing great; just plain purple dress. It used to be my mother's. With a life like this, you can't waist money on dresses.

Time flew way to fast and suddenly I was making the trek to the District Square. Will I get reaped? What will happen if I get reaped? How will my family survive without my tesserae? Is there a chance I could win? Of course I couldn't, those damned careers are trained to kill before they can walk. They'd kill me ten different ways before I could even think of winning. These are the thoughts that are running through my head as I arrive at the District Square. My family and I arrive just in time to watch Effie Trinket stumble on stage wearing six inch heels.

"Welcome District Twelve to this year's reaping," She said nervously. "I have been granted the honor of selecting this year's male and female tributes." She stumbled at the word 'honor'. We all know she hates it here.

"This year's female tribute is… Maya Nitrem."

This shouldn't come as a shock to me. My name is in there so many times I'm surprised all the names fit into that one bowl. This fact however doesn't stop a tear from rolling down my cheek as I walk toward the stage. As I walk I silently trudge to the stage, I silently say goodbye to my family. I don't even pay attention to the identity of my district partner. It doesn't matter either way, I'm going to die.

Brock Fraynor. D12. 18.

I'm already awake when the buzz sounds, announcing that I need to wake up. Ever since I turned eighteen five months ago, I've been working in the mines. I used to just live with my parents, but one day I woke up and when I went to wake them up, they were dead. I'll never know what killed them, but I do find some peace in the fact that they died peacefully in their sleep. Ever since they died, I live with a group of other miners. Together we paid for a small house and even got a really old alarm clock. Every day at the same time, 6:00 am, it makes the most obnoxious buzzing noise.

So, just like every other day, I find myself going through the motions. Getting up, getting dressed, and heading out of the house. The reaping wasn't until the afternoon, which meant I was still expected to mine for a few hours. Yay me.

My team and I drew straws to see who would have to cart the coal we mined to the drop off point. It really is unfair I drew the short straw, seeing as the reaping starts soon and they are all older than me. As I push the cart towards the drop off building, I see my neighbors walking their sixteen year old twins to the reaping. Shocked that they were already heading to the square, I asked them how much time there was until the reaping started.

"It starts in fifteen minutes," they answered, looking shocked at my appearance. Shit, I don't even have a ghost of a chance of getting to the square in time. Never the less, I start sprinting to the drop off building. It's on route to the reaping so at least I have that advantage. I see the worker standing outside the building, waiting for the new shipment of coal. Without even slowing down, I push the cart towards him and charge straight into the District square in time for Effie to be reaching to draw the name of the male tribute. There was already a scared looking girl around the age of fifteen on the stage. I guess I should thank my lucky stars that Effie was having trouble drawing the name at the bottom of the bowl. I'm trying not be noticed as I inch towards my section as Effie gives up and selects a different slip.

"Brock Fraynor," She reads. Well I guess it's a good think I'm already in the main isle. I never got the chance to reach my assigned section. Looks like I'll be seeing my parents soon.


End file.
